The Incident
by thegermanshephard
Summary: Two weeks after the mysterious death of Dr. Watson, Sherlock has given up his detective work, and spends all day in his apartment smoking cigarettes. That is until, he meets a mysterious man calling himself the 'Doctor', who instantly captures the curiosity of Sherlock.
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock sat at his desk, smoking a cigarette, the wisps of smoke rising perfectly in concentric circles. His hair was splayed out into several curls, and his white shirt was crumpled, half open and stained with drops of caffeine. The room was permeated with the stench of nicotine and smoke, and there were ebony burn marks all over the table, that hauntingly resembled bullet holes. He stuck his finger into one of the indentations, scooping up the black shards of charcoal, then raised it to his nose, sucking up the smell into his nasal ducts. For some strange reason this comforted him.

Mrs Hudson shuffled into the room, her eyes watery, and clutching an old crumpled tissue in her hand. Her skin was ghostly pale, washed out by her dark attire and wrinkles. The charm that she once had, had faded away from her ever since the incident and she was a shadow of herself.

He raised his head for a second, announcing in a deep voice, "Mrs Hudson," before setting his eager eyes back at the dark black marks. As he stared at them, the memories of Watson nagging him to give up smoking flowed back into his head. He had always found it so infuriating to be told what to do, however now he realised that he missed having someone to rebel against, who cared for his wellbeing. Mrs Hudson stood there blankly, hoping that Sherlock might for once get up to comfort her, but she knew that he would not. She had learnt that Sherlock was not a man that would easily embrace his grief, and preferred rather to deny it.

The clock chimed, indicating that it was now 2:00pm. Mrs Hudson sighed, giving Sherlock one last glance before turning back. They had hardly spoken since the incident, or in fact the funeral. The only tears that had been shed were Mrs Hudson's. Sherlock had merely remained silent during the whole proceedings but when he was left alone to his dreams, he relieved all the agony again. At that moment, Sherlock found himself being lulled back to sleep by the gloominess of the apartment, and his head slammed roughly on the hard desk surface.

He looked forward down the dark alleyway, calculating in his head, the likelihood of whether or not he would make it out alive or dead. The alleyway closed in on him, to the point where he could barely breathe because of the concentrated claustrophobic space. He gasped for air, as he could feel his heart panging. Where was Watson? What had Moriarty done with him? He was confused and it made him uneasy, he could scarce think straight, and the sound of his pulse, and his heartbeat were overwhelming him. Suddenly he fell, his head slamming against the strong cold concrete, his head searing with pain. He woke up, screaming out in frustration, and raised his hand to the back of his head. There was a bump still there, a painful reminder of his failure. To him it felt much more like a tumour, then just a bump on his head.

There was a clanging noise that Sherlock quickly registered as the opening of the door. He could hear an unfamiliar sound of a pair of heavy shoes hitting the staircase, which told him that this wasn't Mrs Hudson coming up to give him afternoon tea. Immediately he stood up, alert and grabbed the oak handle of his paper knife, pointing it out to the direction of the door. A tall figure entered the room. He was wearing a brown tweed jacket, a light shirt, black trousers and a deep blue bow tie and oozed an air of eccentricity.

"Whoa there!" the man exclaimed, "What's that for?"

Sherlock stared at the man, and noticed that he wore braces that could only be seen when his jacket moved slightly to the side. It struck him that his clothes were old, but also that his hair seemed to flop perfectly over his head. The oddities of his appearance distracted Sherlock, and possibly for the first time, he was unable to deduct who this man could possibly be. The only thing that occurred to him was that his face looked as though it had never even aged a day and yet his clothes and the soles of his feet were worn down excessively.

"How did you get in?" Sherlock asked with a threatening tone in his voice, as he pointed the knife in the direction of his throat.

"The door was open," he replied casually, "I wanted to see you, so I just went on right in."

"Well you're mistaken if you think that I want anything to do with you. I am done with cases, I thought you people knew that."

"That's not why I'm here, can't a man stop by to see the famous Sherlock Holmes? I'm very intrigued by you, you know."

"Oh I see, you're that type then…" Sherlock replied sarcastically dropping his knife to the table, "Who are you anyway?"

"I'm the Doctor."

Sherlock froze, and stared with an empty chilling gaze at him, and clutched the back of his head.

"The Doctor… I used to know a doctor…"


	2. Chapter 2

The Doctor stared at Sherlock, puzzled by his hurt expression.

"Doctor… Who?" Sherlock asked.

"Just the Doctor," he replied smiling, "Talking of doctors, where's the famous Doctor Watson?"

"Deceased," Sherlock stated solemnly, "He died two weeks ago."

"Oh, I didn't know. I'm sorry."

"People die, I'm sure you know more about that than anyone."

"What do you mean?"

"You've lived a long time, a very long time, I can see it in your eyes. All the people that you've loved and lost, every out of the world sight you've seen. It's all in your eyes."

"You're good."

"Where the hell do you come from?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me," Sherlock replied raising his eyebrow.

The Doctor nodded then moved to stand by the window. Sherlock hesitantly followed.

"Well," he said raising his finger up, "Look."

"At what?"

"The sky, that's where I came from. At least I was born in a place up there."

"Intriguing, but absolute rubbish. You really expect me to believe you came from the sky!"

"Believe what you want, Sherlock but I'd hardly think you are the type who likes to be wrong about something."

"You're right, that's why I'm deciding not to believe you."

"Oh, that is not a good decision, trust me. Here you are locked up in Baker Street, don't you ever dream about what's up in the sky?"

"We know what's up in the sky, stars, planets and possibly aliens, but who cares about aliens? Humans are the greatest life form, well the clever ones. I'm often ashamed at how little people think."

"Oh you're a charmer," the Doctor said sarcastically, "You've obviously never met a Time Lord."

"How would you know if I've ever met a Time Lord or not?"

"I'm the only one."

"You're unbelievable," Sherlock said trying to hide a smile, "Who do you think you are?"

"Oh, I don't know but I'd like to stay with you for a while."

"Isn't a bit presumptuous to think that I'd ever let you stay?"

"I don't think so. I can see how intrigued you are, it's all in your eyes."

The Doctor smiled and turned sharply away from the window, "Besides you could do with a bit of an intervention, look at the room, look at you. Do you usually wear your shirt that low, or is it just for me?"

Sherlock looked at him perplexed, he wasn't used to seeing people flirt with him.

"No, I couldn't be bothered to button it up."

"Likely story. You even unbuttoned one when I was talking, I saw."

"I was getting warm."

"I bet you were."


	3. Chapter 3

The Doctor laughed, slightly embarrassed himself. He had never imagined that he could be so attracted to Sherlock of all people, and yet he loved how his flirting had made him so uncomfortable.

"You're a very strange man," Sherlock remarked taking a cigarette from his desk, "More interesting then any of my cases."

"Then why don't you try and solve me?" The Doctor responded flirtatiously, "I can tell you want to."

"You're unbelievable," he replied with an acute smile, "And I forget, you're not a man are you? You're a Time Lord and yet you look just like a man."

"Appearances can be deceiving."

"Aren't you going to tell me what a Time Lord is?"

"And ruin the fun? God, no. Guess."

Sherlock scanned his eyes over the Doctor, looking at every last speck of him. But then his eyes trailed up to the Doctor's head, and he stopped, distracted again by his handsome face. He paused and closed his eyes, and suddenly realized that the answer was staring him right in the face, it was obvious.

"Unless your title is completely irrelevant, I would say, if we are being completely ridiculous here, that you are a time traveler."

"Bingo! Wow, I'm impressed. You're good."

"It was easy enough," Sherlock replied smugly. He secretly loved the fact that it had impressed him.

"I still don't think you believe me. But I can prove it."

"Try me."

"Come here," the Doctor said ushering him forward.

"What do you mean?"

"Just come here."

Sherlock nervously took a step back, confused.

"Or should I come to you?"

His breath becomes heavier, and he doesn't say a thing.

"Are you scared?"

"Of what? Don't be ridiculous, nothing scares me," Sherlock replied.

The Doctor walked over to him slowly, and stood in front of him, so that they were only an arm's length apart from each other. Slowly he took of his jacket, and placed it gently on the desk. Sherlock began to breathe faster. The Doctor then removed his bow tie, placing on top of his jacket and then began to unbutton his shirt from the top.

"What are you doing?"

"Don't worry, I'm just warm."

The Doctor stopped unbuttoning his shirt, once he reached half way, and as he did, he moved in closer to Sherlock, so that their faces were nearly touching. Sherlock looked straight into his eyes, and the Doctor realized that he looked scared. He reached out his hand and lightly stroked the side of his neck but Sherlock didn't move an inch. The Doctor smiled subtly, and removed his hand.

"I want you to feel this," The Doctor whispered, "Give me your hand."

Sherlock hesitated but after a few seconds, he raised up his hand and the Doctor took a hold of it in his. No one had ever held his hand before. The Doctor moved his hand, towards his bare chest and let it rest before moving it over to the left. Beneath his hand, Sherlock could feel two strong pulses.

"Two heartbeats," Sherlock blurted out breaking the tension, "Two hearts."

"Yes," he replied letting go of Sherlock's hand, "That's my proof."


End file.
